Page 56 of My Pucking Crush

He bucks harder, making me gag around the metal bolts, but that pours gasoline on the fire as he fucks my mouth even harder.

It’s hot as hell.

The further down my throat his cock slides, his breath grows more rough, hoarse, and ragged. He fists my hair, what little I have to grab. My head is his handle to use while my mouth gives him unbridled pleasure.

I drink in the taste of him, the smell of him, and I grow painfully hard all over again.

“That’s right,” Luca growls. “Christ, you’re good at taking a cock down your throat.”

Being a relentless overachiever, I tighten my throat and the pressure on his dick spills muttered curses from Luca in Russian.

He grunts, his cock contracting. “Fuck, I’m coming.”

Hot, salty release spills down my throat.

He lifts me up and we settle into a new round of kissing against the tiles. The water’s gone cold, but we’reso heated, it’s refreshing.

“Fun’s over,” he groans, pulling away. “I have to finish off the guy out there.”

Like we just didn’t fool around, he steps out of the shower and puts on sleep shorts he kept folded on the vanity.

I watch him strut confidently to my attacker, his back muscles flaring to life. I tie a towel around my waist and find Luca in the bedroom with that gun in his hand again.

The guy’s empty eyes are open slightly as tiny moans and blood seep from his mouth.

“He’s going to die. Was this torture necessary?” I ask softly.

“For you? Yes.” Luca stares down at him. “Yeah, fucker. How’s the pain? That’s what you get for coming here thinking you can hurt my...”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, but wipes his mouth, looking at me. Keeping his eyes on me, with the gun pointed to the floor, he pulls the trigger to end the guy’s life. The sound is a tinny zip through the air that ends with a thud into the guy’s skull.

“Max,” Luca moans my name, dangerous and feral at the moment. He came down my throat and then killed a man for me, nearly all in the same breath. “See what I’m willing to do for you?”

Jesus, it gets me hot.

Is this who I really am? Did hockey make me this violent? I consider the things I’ve seen on the ice. How brutal the game is. We lose some of our humanity on the ice. That had to be by design.

Luca straightens his back, fresh blood splattered across his chest. “Ooops. You’ll have to clean me again.”

“With my...”

“Washcloth.”

“Right.” Shaking, I make my way into the bathroom and soak a washcloth in warm water.

Luca stands there, legs spread. I consider myself a masculine guy, what I do on the ice takes power. This hits differently.

And he’s crazy about me.

He just shot a guy for me.

I clean him and he groans, his arms on my shoulders again. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“You look so brutal,” I say softly. “Are you that brutal when you fuck a man?”

“Depends if he wants it that way.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

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